


Songs We Forgot To Play

by MonoclePony



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Arlene Hanscom finding herself, Arlene Hanscom is sad and lonely and needs friends, Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Light Angst, Loneliness, Losers as kids, Losers parents, Maggie Tozier is a battleaxe, Motherhood, Parent Fic, Social Anxiety, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, prejudice against young moms, this is a fic about Maggie Tozier being the best mom she can be, this might get to multichap and then you'll all be sorry, young mothers Arlene and Maggie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:35:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27803911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonoclePony/pseuds/MonoclePony
Summary: “I know it’s hard to make friends in a new place. But we’re in the same boat here."Ben bit his lip again, his little teeth worrying away at the skin. “Are you scared too?”Arlene knew what the Correct Mom Answer was. But she wasn’t a Correct Mom. She was Arlene Hanscom, Making-It-Up-As-You-Go Mom. So she said, “Yeah, sweetie. I’m really scared.”+++Arlene Hanscom and her son Ben move to the town of Derry in the Fall of 1987. 29 and on her own, Arlene's ready for whatever this town wants to throw at her. But she didn't bet on meeting the whirlwind wild child that is Maggie Tozier, who plans to get her out of her shell and help her navigate motherhood, a full-time job and a social life with parents who are as flawed and wonderful as their children - with a lot of bumps along the way.A Parents of the Losers fic that lives rent-free in my head.
Relationships: Maggie Tozier/Wentworth Tozier
Comments: 11
Kudos: 19





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a love song to the iteration of Maggie Tozier a la Cher/Eleanor Ripley who strolled fully-formed into my head, but turned into a battle with loneliness and _feelings_ I didn't expect. This may turn into a multichap if people like the sound of it, but who really knows, this was done in a couple of days with very little editing involved. 
> 
> cw for Sonia Being Derogatory and general prejudice over Arlene being a young mom (as mentioned in the summary, Arlene is about 29 when this starts, meaning she had Ben at 18. Maggie is 32, if you're wondering).

It was a parent-teacher conference, she told herself as she fixed her hair in the hallway mirror, so there was really no need to get all worked up about it. She’d been telling herself that ever since her son brought the letter home, all round-cheeked and puffing with exertion. That didn’t stop the anxiety squirming to the surface, though. She thought they might have missed it this academic year; they had moved about a month ago, and all of her son’s other schools had their conferences in the Fall. That wasn’t done on accident. As things went, parent-teacher conferences were Arlene Hanscom’s idea of hell.

And it wasn’t because her son was a bad boy, oh no – her Ben was an angel, she couldn’t ask for better – it was because of the _other parents._ The way they always stared at her, made up their own stories in their heads as to why a woman on the cusp of 30 was walking into the room with no one beside her.

_Isn’t she young? She’s not his mother, she must be his older sister…_

_Made a mistake?_

_Couldn’t keep a hold of her husband?_

_But, golly, she is **young** …_

It meant Arlene had grown a thick skin, but it sure as hell didn’t mean she _liked_ doing it. But this was for her Ben’s future, and she didn’t want to embarrass him by not turning up. So here she was, trying to curl her dark blonde hair behind her ear so that it stayed there, and willing down the nervous anticipation that coiled in her gut like a snake.

“Mom?”

She spun around at her son’s voice. Ben was stood in the hallway, nearly blocking out the light from the dining room beyond. She softened the tightness in her jaw. He looked very smart, in a new brown sweater and black pants he picked out himself.

She told him he could pick anything at the store, anything at all, and he’d chosen brown, his mouth all twisted up as though it was a big decision. He always picked from the men’s section, never the bright kaleidoscope of the kids’ area. “Don’t you want something a bit brighter, pumpkin?” she always asked, gently nudging, but he always shook his head, prodded the same old brown or grey or (sometimes) dark green sweater and mumble, “This one’s fine, mom.”

He’d showed her a picture of a chameleon in one of his library books once, all bright-eyed and excited the way he only was about books; he read aloud the information that told them both how this reptile could change its skin to match a tree branch or a forest floor, and added, “Isn’t it cool, mom?” Then he paused. “I wish I was a chameleon.” This was said quieter, more subdued.

Arlene kept that memory close, even if it hurt her, because she knew. Oh _God,_ did she know. She’d actually cried that night, in her bed that was too big for just one person. Maybe she wanted to be a chameleon too. Then they could be Arlene Chameleon and Ben Chameleon, hanging out in the rainforest with no one able to find them quick enough to look. It was then she realised why her son had such a liking for brown sweaters.

“Mom? We better get going.”

She blinked, shaking herself loose of her thoughts. “Right, right, of course. Come on, sweetheart.”

Ben was growing up. He had turned eleven back in October, and it felt like childhood was so close to being over for him that Arlene wanted to keep him this age somehow. This age, he listened to her and came home before curfew and didn’t trouble himself with girls. But she would let go sometime. She would have to.

He sat in the passenger seat of her car, hands folded neatly in his lap like he was in church. He’d brought a book with him, she noticed, sandwiched between his hands and his lap. _Treasure Island,_ she saw from the cover. Such a good boy. Past his peer’s reading level since he was six. Polite, too, to anyone who spoke to him – especially grown ups. She’d done well to raise him that way, when everyone expected the opposite.

She spared him a small smile she hoped was reassuring. “Not gonna get any nasty surprises, am I?” she joked.

He shook his head. “I like this school,” he said in a small voice. “The teachers are pretty nice.”

“Even phys ed?” Ben’s grimace made her laugh. “Gotcha. No talking to the phys ed teacher. What about the other kids in your class?”

Ben didn’t dignify that with a response, and Arlene suppressed a sigh. You and me both, pumpkin.

The car radio was on an oldies station, and the Sound of the Sixties filled their car as she made the short journey to Derry Middle School. Derry was a small town, smaller than any she’d moved to yet. There was a sense of community the moment you stepped over the town line, and Arlene liked it in theory. In practice, however, it meant that people talked.

Not that she’d put herself out there just yet; it had been a month, and all she did was drop Ben at school, go to work, come home late and fix Ben some dinner if he hadn’t already eaten. She took trips to the store when she had to, but she always kept her head down and didn’t make eye contact with anyone. She liked to make herself small, shrinking her world down to just her and Ben, Ben and her: because what else really mattered?

“Right, the letter said that you don’t have to be there the whole time, so why don’t we get the big talk out the way first and then you can go out and play with your friends?” she asked.

Ben’s hands creased in his lap. “Oh, uh, that’s okay mom, I don’t mind sticking with you.”

“Hey,” she smiled, “your old lady can handle herself.” _Lie._ “It’ll be okay, Benny. You can go play with that kid you told me about, right? Freddie?”

“Eddie,” Ben corrected her gently. “I… I guess I could…”

“That’s the spirit,” she said, her heart breaking a little at the way he avoided her eye. “We just gotta try, sweetie. We both gotta do it. You’re such a nice, friendly, bright little guy, there is no way you won’t get a bunch of friends! Just you wait and see.”

Ben nodded along with every word, staring intently down at the grinning pirate on the cover of his book. “Okay.” He bit his lip. 

“Hey.” He finally met her gaze, and it never failed to strike her how much those eyes didn’t belong to her. They were his dad’s eyes, Joseph’s eyes, and sometimes it was like a little bit of him was still there with her. Recovering quickly, she turned off the radio and said, “I know it’s hard to make friends in a new place. But we’re in the same boat here.”

Ben bit his lip again, his little teeth worrying away at the skin. “Are you scared too?”

Arlene knew what the correct Mom Answer was. But she wasn’t a correct mom. She was Arlene Hanscom, making-it-up-as-you-go mom. So she said, “Yeah, sweetie. I’m really scared.” She fumbled for his hand over the gearbox, found his wrist, squeezed it. “But you know what I got?”

“What?”

“I got you to hold my hand.”

Ben’s face split into a smile as he recognised the words. “I got you to understand,” he answered, a little shyly.

“I got you to walk with me,” she sang back, smiling too, and that launched them into a full-blown recital of Sonny & Cher that took them all the way to the school gates. It happened at least twice a week, and Arlene loved that all she had to do is say a single line and Ben would recite the next one in a knee-jerk reaction. _I Got You Babe_ was a song that belonged to her and Joseph, and now it belonged to her and Ben. It was their secret code, their little in-joke, and as she parked up she got out of the car feeling a bit better.

Ben got out the other side, tucking his book under his arm like a college student as he offered her his other arm. “C’mon mom, let’s do this,” he said, full of a quiet kind of bravery that made her want to scoop him up and punch the air at the same time. She settled for a casual high five, that he did with a gleeful smack of his hand against hers.

“You’ll have to show me where to go,” she warned as they mounted the steps. “All these schools look the same.”

“I guess they all use the same blueprints,” Ben replied, ever the thinker for his age.

“I guess,” she agreed.

Thankfully, a green sign pointed them to where they had to go; Ben led her to Homeroom first, which was the meeting he had to be present for, and when they entered it looked like everyone else had already arrived. Wow, there were a lot of them. Arlene suppressed the urge to look for the nearest exit. What it meant, though, was that there was so much hubbub they could slip in without anyone noticing. She breathed a sigh of relief. Good. The first step was always the hardest. Now for everything else.

There was a desk with name tags, assorted marker pens, and a sign (‘Please use us!’) that Arlene helped herself to. Since this was middle school, it was a nice way of introducing everyone, even if they all went to the same elementary school and knew each other since their children were small. But no, she couldn’t think like that, this was going to be fine. She was doing this for Ben, she was brave.

She printed her name in neat, precise letters and stuck it to her blouse. It was one of her favourites, biscuit-coloured with white polka dots, and she saw that it fit in well with the rest of the mothers. Most of them were older – of course they were – so her bargain at the local Goodwill actually fit in. Thank goodness she’d picked well.

She took a moment to look around the room at the selection of parents and children. One girl had the same snub nose as her squat father. A boy with long, greasy hair slouched in a similar way to his blonde mother, but shared the squinty eyes of his father. She glanced at Ben and wondered where she’d gotten lost in him; he had Joseph’s eyes, Joseph’s hair, Joseph’s soft way of speaking. There wasn’t much room for anything of hers. Maybe that was for the best.

“EDDIE, PUT THAT DOWN,” someone shrieked to her right, and she turned to see a boy drop the marker he’d taken from the table like it was electrocuted. He was a delicate little boy, all petite and ready to snap if he stepped the wrong way. His eyes, huge and soulful, were fixed in mute terror upon the woman who had to be his mother, and his mouth hung slightly open. She was a large woman, large and looming, and as she wrung her hands in front of her the nylon dress she wore audibly rustled.

At that point, Arlene realised there was no way she was going to be the centre of attention in this class.

“Aw ma, c’mon,” the kid said, and Arlene couldn’t help but smile at how _resigned_ he sounded once the shock of being screamed at had evaporated. “It’s okay, I’m just writing my name and it doesn’t have solvent in it, I checked.”

“They don’t put that on the labels, Eddiebear, what have I told you?!” the woman chided, rushing over like an impending tornado and snatching the marker from the floor. She grabbed at his hand as she wailed in his face, “Is this what the teachers let you do? Do they let you sniff markers and glue and everything else because that can turn your brain to mush, sweetie, that can-”

“Oh dear,” a willowy woman muttered to Arlene’s left, “Sonia’s off again.”

Arlene didn’t know what possessed her to do what she did next. But she didn’t start thinking until she was heading towards the woman and her son, stepping carefully so as not to spook her. When she got close, she gave a small cough and the woman reeled back, clutching a hand to her bag as though she feared being mugged in a Middle School Homeroom. Arlene offered a small smile in greeting. “Um, excuse me, but you don’t need to worry so much about the pens. They’re not dangerous.”

The other woman goggled at her as she continued haltingly, “Um, although the organic solvents in them can be harmful, you would have to be exposed to a whole warehouse full before you got ink poisoning. Or, gee, I dunno… inject it right into your blood.” Oh, lord. _Now_ everyone was staring. “I, um, read it in a journal,” she added, feeling the heat rush into her cheeks at all the attention, “so, um, yes. Your son should be fine.” She spared a glance to the boy, who was gawping at her like she’d grown a second head.

There was silence for a moment. And then Sonia’s tongue darted out to wet her lips with spittle. When she spoke, it was a low, dangerous sort of tone. “You think you know better, do you?”

Immediately, Arlene knew her mistake. “Oh, uh, no, nothing like that, I was just-” she tried, but it was too late.

“Because you don’t know squat, little missy from out of town,” Sonia said, jabbing a podgy finger in her direction. Arlene flinched at every jab. “Oh yes, I know you’re new around here. My little Eddie is sickly, you hear me? I don’t need advice from some… Nancy Drew wannabe that got herself knocked up because she couldn’t keep her hands to herself.”

Arlene let the insults bounce off her and glanced at Eddie again. He didn’t _look_ sickly, but then what a silly assumption she’d made thinking he wasn’t.

“Don’t you look at him!” Sonia shrieked, and her eyes flew obediently back to her. Sonia was trembling, in rage or fear she wasn’t sure, but her eyes were bulging meanly. “How dare you speak to me, you little-”

“That’s enough, Sonia,” another woman said, holding out a placating hand. She had short bobbed hair and small glasses perched on her nose, and was flanked by a boy with curls and an expression too grown up for a child’s face. They looked like a pair of birds, the both of them, all neatly preened but with sharp edges. Almost identical clothes, too. Peas in a pod, her mother would say. “Let her alone.”

Sonia gazed furiously at her, but there was a severe sort of look the woman gave that flattened her rage. The boy nodded to Eddie, who shook his head jerkily in response.

_Ben._ Arlene’s eyes widened and she reached for him, but found empty space. She turned to find he had kept his distance, pulling his sweater sleeves over his hands. He was intentionally not looking at her. She felt everything inside her deflate. Oh no. She’d done it. The one thing she didn’t want to do. Her insides started to wriggle uncomfortably, and she bit down on her lip hard. _Don’t show weakness,_ she told herself, _because then they’ve won._ It was school all over again, but this time she couldn’t just slip a teacher a note and be excused.

_Well. You got yourself into this mess, you get yourself out._

She took a breath, turned back to the boiling-over Sonia, and said, “I’m sorry for upsetting you. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just trying to-”

Sonia somehow looked more outraged. The mom with the bobbed hair stepped in. “Why don’t you just sit down?” she suggested. It sounded like a schoolmistress’s order and, appropriately chastised, Arlene backed down. _You’ve done enough damage,_ the other woman seemed to say, _just sit down and be quiet._

So much for friends. Two down, the rest of the class to go.

Ben ushered her to his desk, though he didn’t hold her hand this time. She understood. He couldn’t be seen dead holding his mother’s _hand_ , especially not now. That was social suicide.

“Ben, honey, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, mom.”

“But I was-”

“It’s _fine._ ”

It wasn’t.

She noticed how they walked past a great deal of desks until they got to his; it wasn’t right at the back, but it was close enough. She frowned, but didn’t think too much on it.

“You have to sit at my desk,” he explained shortly.

She blinked. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. It’s just what they do here.”

So she sat. She was transported back to her own school days, where she would sit at the front of the class so she could hear better and make as many notes as she could. She loved school. She loved learning, just the same as her Ben did, and as she stared down at the graffitied desk, that familiar spark went through her. She crossed her legs, just because she could, and smiled – just a little bit. She tried to push down the events of the past five minutes. She was good at that. Plenty of practice.

Soon everyone else started to take their seats too, and to Arlene’s relief Sonia sat ahead of her. The little chair squealed under her weight, but it mercifully held. The woman in glasses was still trying to make conversation, but Sonia kept her face firmly turned away. Her son was talking to Eddie, though, and with folded arms and a slowly reddening face he seemed to ignore him too. Hmm. What an unpleasant family.

A slim older lady appeared at the doorway and Ben hissed, “That’s Mrs Mariell.” When she reached her desk, the chatter seemed to cease. Arlene continued to glance between everyone, but Ben didn’t point anyone else out. She tried not to overthink it, but he never did ask to have friends over or went out to play – but no. She wasn’t going to push him. They hadn’t been in the neighbourhood very long. It would happen sooner or later – she hoped.

Leaning close to him, she whispered, “Is that the Eddie you told me about?” referring to the boy next to Sonia.

Ben nodded. “That’s him.”

She blinked. “Oh. He’s… interesting.”

“ _Mom_.” 

“A- _hem_.” Mrs Mariell’s voice made everyone face her, and Arlene really did feel like she was back in school. “Now, I believe we are missing a few parents. I know that there are a few absences through work commitments, but there are still,” she squinted at the notepad everyone had apparently been writing their names on, “three that said they would come.” Her eyes, beady and sharp, passed over them all and Arlene felt a little shudder roll up her spine.

She hadn’t signed in. She hadn’t seen the notepad and she hadn’t signed in and now she would have to-

“We’re here,” Ben called out, and she wanted so badly to clap a hand to his mouth. All heads turned towards them, and she couldn’t help but freeze. “Me and my mom, we’re present. Sorry, Mrs Mariell, we didn’t see the paper.”

Arlene was ready for it. The looks didn’t take long to land as the parents who had pretended not to hear her altercation with Sonia studied her lack of wrinkles and the way her crossed legs trembled under the table. Ben never noticed, and she was glad of that. He always just assumed they were looking at _him,_ that there was nothing wrong with his mom because… well, she was his mom, same as any other parent. She was grateful. Her boy was growing up in a harsh world, and he didn’t need to go worrying about his own mother.

She knew what it was she had to do. She took a deep breath and stood up, holding her arms together as she began, “Yes, hello, I’m Arlene Hanscom, Ben’s mom, we’re… we’re new to the area.”

That caused another spate of mutters and whispers (even Mrs Mariell raised an unimpressed brow) and she thought back to the book about chameleons again.

Before she could make her escape, the door to Homeroom swung open with such force it hit the wall with a crash. It made everyone, Mrs Mariell included, jump. Once she recovered however, the teacherly face soured further. “Ah. What a lovely surprise to see you, Mrs Tozier.”

And the tallest woman Arlene thought she had ever seen walked into the room.

When Arlene said tall, she meant _tall;_ the woman arrived with a man, his hair red but slightly thinning, and if she wanted she could easily prop her chin on that balding head of his. Not that she was interested in doing that at the moment; she seemed far more interested in finishing the cigarette trapped between her fingers.

Arlene was shocked to see that she was young too, and dressed that way; all in black except for a dash of cracked, darkening grey in the bomber jacket she sported, she seemed like she’d come from either a funeral or a bar. By the disinterested gazes of the other parents, though, this was apparently normal. There were no hushed whispers like there had been in the wake of Arlene’s introduction, but there was the occasional eye roll and wide-eyed glance between friends. Mrs Tozier didn’t appear to care.

Putting the cigarette between her lips, Mrs Tozier said between her teeth, “Always a pleasure, Mrs M.” She flashed her a grin, which Mrs Mariell didn’t return.

“Sorry we’re late,” the man added, striding over to the label table with purpose and scrawling a tag for both himself and his companion. “Her car wouldn’t start, had to get jumper cables.”

“Mr Denbrough here is a true American hero,” Mrs Tozier crooned, her cigarette bobbing up and down as she said this. “Truly a marvel of the mechanic world.” Her eyes had the smoky kind of shadow Arlene only ever saw on TV, and as she tipped the man a heavy wink all he did was roll his eyes in fond frustration. It wasn’t flirtatious; Arlene had enough experience of desperate men to know those sorts of moves, and this was far too familiar for that.

“Okay, so it took some time,” the man defended. “It’s been a while since I’ve had to jump start a car.”

“Sadly, your days of car thievery are behind you, Zack.”

“Where,” Mrs Mariell interrupted, “are your children?”

Mrs Tozier blinked. She looked over her shoulder. “Ah, crap,” she said, causing a number of the women to flinch, “I _knew_ I’d forgotten something for this parent-teacher meeting. Must have left him at the 7-Eleven again.”

“They’re outside,” The man – Zack – answered, giving a look that suggested she stop while she was ahead. “William needed to catch up on his math homework from when he was out sick, so Richard is helping him.”

Eddie looked hopefully at his mom, whose ferocious glare froze him, gently scowling, in his tracks.

Arlene could feel Ben staring her down, but she kept her eyes politely to the front. Usually she wouldn’t ignore her boy, but this whole thing was getting interesting.

“Be that as it may,” Mrs Mariell said, “I think it beneficial to have them both here.”

Mrs Tozier raised both eyebrows so high they disappeared into her nest of dark hair. It curled so wildly that it had to be natural, and when she took a step forward Arlene could see how it bounced all the way down the back of her shoulders. And, _lord,_ it was huge.

“Oh, really?” she asked, as though she had just told them an interesting bit of trivia. “Don’t worry, I’ll make notes. Be good bedtime reading.” She brandished a notepad out of – well, Arlene wasn’t sure where – and waved it at the teacher with a bright smile. “Promise.”

Mrs Mariell’s look didn’t soften, but she clearly knew when she was beat. “Fine. If you could please take your seats.”

“Right away, ma’am.” Mrs Tozier gave a lazy salute and, after taking her nametag from an amused Zack she began to make her way through the desks. Though she walked casually, Arlene noticed her hands plunging into the bomber jacket pockets and stiffening the leather, stretching it down to her hips as she shimmied past a small forest of tables and chairs. She spoke to few people as she went. She did nod to the birdy woman and said, “Andie,” in greeting. She got a muttered, “For goodness’ sake, that isn’t my name,” in reply, which made her smile around the cigarette.

She seemed to be headed towards the desk next to Sonia, and even though she couldn’t see her expression from where she was sitting, Arlene could see the way the other woman tensed as she grew near. Sure enough, when Mrs Tozier stopped in front of the round-eyed boy and said, “Heya Eddie, how’s it going?” Sonia nearly yanked him off his feet in her desperation to pull him closer to her. Blinking, Mrs Tozier just shrugged and pulled out the seat that usually held her son’s shadow.

The woman even _sat_ differently; unlike the other parents, who sat up straight or at least pretended to be attentive, Mrs Tozier slumped down so her head was at the usual height of the women surrounding her and let out a cloud of smoke. Arlene gaped at her. How was she still smoking? And no one was telling her to put it out?

“Mom,” Ben hissed, “stop staring.”

She was trying. Dear god, she was _trying._ But Mrs Tozier unfortunately commanded attention, with her dark clothes and hair and throwaway words. Arlene was in equal parts scared of and fascinated by her.

Mrs Mariell launched into the usual patter about the school and what had been going on that year. It didn’t really apply to Arlene; Ben wasn’t the sort of child to be involved in the school calendar, unless there was a reading group or study club. He didn’t like getting involved in activities if he could help it, and Arlene wouldn’t make him. He would do what he liked, and at his own pace. There was no point trying to force him into a cookie cutter mould of what a Son Should Be, because she didn’t want a son like that. She just wanted Ben. With a couple of friends, perhaps.

So she zoned out. She looked out of the window, then at the wall displays, then at Mrs Mariell without focusing on the words coming out of her mouth. But then her eyes strayed to Mrs Tozier again. Well, it was actually the boy – Eddie – who caught her eye.

He was staring intently at Mrs Tozier like he wanted to burn a hole in her jacket. Mrs Tozier didn’t pay attention for a while, but then she oh so carefully ripped out a page of her notebook, scrunched it up in a ball, and threw it at him without so much as a glance in his direction. Eddie jumped like he’d been shot at and shared a look with the woman beside him. She pulled a face at him. Eddie’s face split into a smile and he giggled. Sonia elbowed him sharply in the ribs. Arlene blinked at them both.

Mrs Mariell continued on, explaining the school rules and the various expectations the students needed to uphold, and Mrs Tozier slumped further down in her seat and took a long, deep drag on her cigarette.

Sonia’s head darted from the front of the class to Mrs Tozier repeatedly, her eyes bugging out the more she did it. It was all too obvious that she was eyeing the cigarette that was still smoking between the other woman’s lips, but all Mrs Tozier did was continue to look at her, calmly curious. Sonia did it long enough that she actually uttered a small noise of distress in Mrs Tozier’s direction. With wide-eyed understanding, the other woman took the cigarette out of her mouth slowly – and then with large-eyed innocence offered it to Sonia. Arlene had to suppress a snigger at the way the large woman’s mouth fell open in a giant ‘O’ of shock. Her chair was scraped away so quickly it shrieked on the wooden floor and Eddie shouted, “MOM” at such a volume that Mrs Mariell looked up from her speech.

Mrs Tozier sat up straight, hands clasped in front of her and smiling. Sonia was gaping at her. Eddie seemed conflicted, caught up in a mix of embarrassment at his mother and laughter at the other woman. What came out of him was a small squealing noise that made the other kids laugh. “Really, children!” Mrs Mariell chided, and as she tried to restore calm to the classroom Mrs Tozier stubbed her cigarette out on the desk and let her gaze rove around the room. This time, it landed on Arlene. She blinked at her. Mrs Tozier, far from pretending she didn’t exist, gave her a toothy grin.

Arlene didn’t look at her for the rest of the talk, and once it was over and everyone got up to go around to each teacher (it appeared as though they went around in groups with whoever they knew best) she decided to wait until Sonia disappeared from sight before getting up. “You can go outside with Eddie if you want,” she told Ben.

Instead of insisting he stayed with her, he got up and nodded, pressing his book so tightly to his chest his body bulged around it. “Okay. Will you be… I mean, will you be alright?”

She smiled. “Of course I will, honey. You go ahead.”

Ben levelled his gaze at her. “Mom. Remember what we said. Try to make friends with the other moms, okay?”

Arlene’s nerves fluttered helplessly around in her chest. “Tell you what,” she said, leaning forward in her chair, “I’ll try my best not to start anymore arguments, and you go hang out with Eddie. Deal?”

Ben glanced at Eddie, who at the first second he was able to had run over to the curly-haired boy and his mother and was, evidently, talking at them a mile a minute if his hand gestures were anything to go by. He didn’t seem convinced, and honestly, neither was Arlene. “Okay,” he said doubtfully, “Deal.” Arlene didn’t imagine it would be the sort of deal they kept.

“Have fun!” she called after his retreating back, and ignored the way he breezed past Eddie and the other boy without hesitating.

Letting out a deep sigh, Arlene was ready to wait it out and then tag behind one of the groups like she always did when a familiar scrape of chair leg against floor made her look up.

“So, I dunno about you, but that was one of the most boring things I ever had to sit through.”

Mrs Tozier was dragging a chair over to her. She was flipping it around and sitting on it backwards, the way the professors at Arlene’s university had to make them seem cool. She was grinning.

Arlene stared blankly at her, unsure of whether this was a trick. It didn’t faze the other woman; she just kept talking. “I didn’t even bother making any notes, look.” She slid her notebook across the desk at her. “Not even a doodle. If this was a test, I would have failed, that’s for sure.”

Arlene continued to stare. She wasn’t sure what this other woman wanted her to say. Her eyes drifted down to the nametag she was wearing, and scribbled there was the word, ‘ _Ripley’_. Oh. That was an… interesting name.

Popping her lips, ‘Ripley’ slid her notebook back and tucked it in the pocket of her jacket. She tried again. “Wouldn’t have mattered even if I had, Mrs Mariell has it in for me. She’s been here so long, she used to teach _me_ in Middle School, can you believe it? Still in the same job, poor woman. Wouldn’t be surprised if she died one day and came back as a ghost to teach here for eternity.”

A reluctant smile pushed through Arlene’s doubts, and even though she didn’t speak, she felt like she wanted to.

‘Ripley’ leaned over her folded arms. “Okay. Y’see what’s meant to happen,” she said confidentially, “is that when I say stuff, you say stuff back. Else it’s just me talking, and no one wants that, believe me.” She paused. “I think in certain circles they call it a ‘conversation’.”

Anyone else would drip those words with sarcasm, but they instead had a light sort of bounce to them that kept Arlene’s smile on her face.

“Sorry,” she said automatically, “Gosh, I’m so – sorry. It’s just all a bit…”

“Much?” ‘Ripley’ offered helpfully. When Arlene nodded, she continued, “I get it. It’s rough being the new kid, am I right?”

Arlene nodded. “My Ben’s a tough cookie though, he’s used to travelling around. He’ll be okay.”

The other woman mimicked her nod like she understood. “Sure. Ben.”

Arlene wasn’t stupid. She knew she hadn’t been talking about Ben. She shuffled in her seat uncomfortably, like she had an itch she couldn’t reach in polite company.

“I hear you had the pleasure of Sonia Kaspbrak earlier.”

A flash of horror bolted through her. “O-oh, no, sorry, that was all my fault, I shouldn’t have-”

“Hey. Don’t worry about it. You gave them all a show, I’m sad I missed it. Would’ve brought popcorn.” She let out a short chuckle, wry and deep. “Still, talk about a baptism of fire. You’re a braver soul than me, I wouldn’t go near that woman with a ten-foot barge pole if my kid wasn’t so utterly obsessed with hers.” She sighed wistfully. “It’s cute actually. Been friends since they were five. Richie made him eat a caterpillar. Kid sure can pick ‘em.”

_Richie. Richard._ Ben had mentioned a Richie before, but only in passing. Arlene couldn’t remember what exactly he’d said about him, but she was sure he wasn’t a bully and that was the only thing she cared about. But she was still on edge; the fact that she was being talked to at all had knocked her plans for the evening off course.

An awkward silence stretched between the two of them, Arlene unsure of what to do or say next and ‘Ripley’ clearly trying to find something else to bring up. Arlene didn’t know why she was bothering. The thought that she could be part of a PTA crossed her mind, but she quickly dismissed that. She couldn’t imagine this woman as a PTA member.

“Anyway,” she clapped her hands together so suddenly it made Arlene jump, “enough about all that – since I wasn’t here at roll call, I didn’t catch your name.”

Wow, she didn’t often get this far. Once the simple ‘how are you’s and ‘which child is yours’es were out of the way, people didn’t stick around – scared, Arlene often thought, that the empty space beside her was contagious. But this woman was waiting expectantly, still grinning like she was the only person she really cared about in the room, and that made Arlene feel – odd. It was a good odd, she guessed. It was odd, nonetheless.

“Oh, I’m uh… Arlene. Hanscom. And you’re Mrs…” she squinted at the name tag again, “Ripley Tozier?”

“Wha- oh!” she looked down at her name tag and rolled her eyes. “No. Sorry, that is a very bad joke from a very unfunny man.” With another deep chuckle, too lazy to be a laugh, she held out a hand to be shaken. “The name’s Maggie or Mags. Never Margaret.” She winked.

Arlene took it, a little nonplussed. “Nice to, uh, meet you.”

“Maggie!” the lady from before called out, “We should get started, we don’t want to stay too late.” A man had since joined her; Arlene could tell he was her husband by the unimpressed line of a mouth and tight curls he shared with his son. He was staring down his nose at Maggie, but quickly looked through her. Arlene realised with a squirm of her stomach that he was looking her way. There was thinly veiled judgement in that gaze, and though that uncomfortable feeling came slinking back Arlene embraced it. That was normal, what she expected, and for some reason was something she could deal with better than the woman in front of her trying to be nice.

She swallowed painfully and gestured to the pair. “You should, um, probably go. They’re waiting for you.”

Maggie followed her gaze over her shoulder and turned back, the smile fading from her face. “You want me to split?”

Arlene’s eyes flicked between Maggie and the group, hoping it would buy her time to explain how obviously she didn’t want her to go but she probably should. She bit her lip and gave a loose shrug. Maybe she should be honest. Yes. Honesty was the best policy. “I don’t want you to feel like you, um, have to stick with me. I’ll honestly be okay, I’ve moved around a lot so I know the drill.” She gave a weak smile and, for some insane reason, a thumbs up. Maybe making it sound playful would hide how true it all was. 

Nothing changed in Maggie’s expression. For a moment Arlene wondered if she hadn’t heard her. Then she let out a breath slowly, not quite a sigh but not a normal breath either, and dismounted the chair. Arlene let her smile slip. This was normal. She had a system. She could follow behind them like she’d pla-

But Maggie wasn’t moving. She was stood in front of her, hands plunged deep in her bomber jacket pockets, and staring her down. Arlene quailed in her seat. “Um. What?” she asked quietly.

Maggie didn’t say anything. But she did angle her head towards the group, in that recognisable ‘come on’ gesture. The hope glowing weak in Arlene’s chest got poked around until a few flames caught. Biting her lip, she eased herself out of her seat with a shy smile. Next to Maggie, she came up to her shoulder. She’d never considered herself small, so Maggie really _was_ tall. But somehow she didn’t feel intimidated – instead she felt shielded. She chanced a look up at her, but Maggie was focused on the waiting group. “Let’s go hear how my son managed to blow up the Bio lab again,” she said, and then glanced at Arlene herself. “It’s better to do these things in a group, Arlene. Else it’s just sad.”

_Yes,_ Arlene thought as she headed over to the others, _it really was rather sad, wasn’t it?_

* * *

With all things considered, it could have been a lot worse. She had known worse, actually.

She kept her hands clasped tightly together as they moved down the corridors, and squeezed them hard whenever she needed the encouragement to keep going. She thought back to what Ben had said: “ _Try to make friends with the other moms”._ Well, she couldn’t let him down. She could at least try.

She got introduced to the others almost instantly, Maggie rattling off the names without taking a breath. Andrea and Donald Uris. Zack Denbrough. A Sharon Denbrough, at home with their youngest. The names meant nothing to Arlene, but the children’s names were ones she recognised from the half-stories Ben gave her whenever she asked how his day went at the dinner table.

It didn’t give her much of an idea, but she matched them to the parents anyway. _Your son made the best volcano in the class. Your son tells the best stories, right out his head. The way my son talks about them, I know he thinks they’re the best but he’s shy, please be nice to him, he’s been through a lot, please be nice to **me** …_

For the most part, they were. There was a guilty sort of movement they made when she caught them looking at her, a twitch that she recognised all too well. She got it. She was the fancy new toy to be gawped at and prodded. But after the second time the Uris husband gave her a sidelong glance Maggie snapped, “Oh for the love of God, she’s not going to grow a second head and speak in tongues, Donald,” he flushed red at being caught out and let her alone. She just tucked her head down, counting the linoleum tiles as they moved from class to class.

The others made conversation between. She just floated beside them. It was like being a ghost in a way, haunting this bundle of people who clearly went way back. Andrea asked Maggie about a recipe she’d given her that week, wincing at her harsh laughter; Zack clapped a hand to Donald’s bony shoulder and shook it gently in a commiserating way – maybe over some sports game – and the other man gave the slightest shrug and a tiny smile in return. _I don’t belong here,_ Arlene thought. _I really, really don’t._ She wondered where Ben was. She imagined him hidden under a tree reading, and wished she was there with him.

To her surprise, Maggie fell into step with her after the last teacher appointment. “All good?”

“Oh, uh, yes,” she replied, immediately warming under the subject. Ben. She could talk about Ben forever. “Ben’s quite a diligent student, always has been. Looks like he’s already getting on the teacher’s good sides.”

“Hm, Richie could learn a thing or two from him.” Maggie looked thoughtful. “I mean, the kid’s real bright, could give his teachers a run for their money. But he’s got this chronic problem, really quite serious. It’s called ‘not being able to keep his mouth shut’. The docs tell me it’s terminal.”

Arlene gave a polite chuckle. “He certainly sounds like a handful.” She imagined a miniature version of Maggie; tall, clad all in black, probably some biker boots and spikes sticking out of his shoulders as he sneered at the other kids and backtalked their long-suffering teachers. “Ben’s quite quiet, really. Doesn’t wanna get in anyone’s way.”

“Like mother like son?” Maggie asked, not unkindly.

Arlene shrugged tightly. “Guess so.” She sighed. “I just hope he finds some friends here. This is it for us, you know? Our final stop.”

“And you chose Derry.” Maggie’s laugh was more like a bark, short and loud. “Jesus.”

Arlene didn’t know what that meant, but she smiled along with her anyway.

The cold chill of the November day hit them like a punch in the face as they stepped outside. Andrea drew her cardigan tighter around her and Zack made some comment about how every year it got colder, he _swore,_ but Arlene just shivered. Her blouse was made of a thin material, so the wind blew right through it. Hugging herself against the cruel breeze, she looked out over the playground for a sighting of Ben. There was a small huddle of kids in the corner, an unintelligible mash of shadows and silhouettes, but she couldn’t tell if Ben was among them.

“Stanley!” Andrea called, but her voice was snatched away by the wind and none of the figures moved.

“STANLEY,” Donald barked, making Arlene flinch at the volume. Still no movement.

Maggie pursed her lips, took a step forward and put her fingers to her mouth. Two sharp whistle blasts shot across the playground like bullets, and sure enough the figures scrambled to their feet and came running. “I hope no one else sees us calling our children like dogs,” Zack commented.

Maggie raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know about your kids, but Richie is fully house trained and he stopped chasing cats last week.” She grinned at Arlene to show she was joking.

As the shadows got closer she saw the way they split into five. The first two boys ran up with wide eyes. One was the boy she now knew was Stanley, his tight curls bouncing on his head as he ran. The other was a lanky boy with a sort of face that would one day be handsome, but not quite yet. She would have assumed this was Richie if it wasn’t for his flaming red hair.

“Duh-Dad,” he stammered, glancing from Stanley’s wide eyes and the shades behind him, “W-we were juh-just playing a-and…”

“That’s enough, Bill,” Zack said, adopting a tone that was unmistakeably parental, and when Bill opened his mouth again he shook his head. “I don’t want you talking unless you do it properly.”

Arlene saw the way Bill’s eyes bulged at this, how it was physically impossible for him to talk without it breaking apart like brittle, and felt a little sorry for him. He took the hint though, and kept quiet, shooting his friend a sharp glance. Stanley opened his mouth to help Bill out but was immediately drowned out by a bleating chant of “Mom mom mom mom mom,” that was coming from behind them.

The boy that bounded towards them very nearly bumped into Arlene with the force of his run. A mass of dark hair stood up wildly on his head, and huge eyes blinked out at her behind too-big-for-him glasses. They were the old-fashioned thick-rimmed type, reminding Arlene startlingly of Buddy Holly. They were well loved, clearly; tape was wrapped around the nose bridge to keep them from collapsing in on themselves, and there were plenty of scratches on the glass itself. Arlene took a step back and only managed to let out a short noise – “um?” – before the boy realised his mistake. Arlene swore she heard him say, “whoop, sorry toots,” as he moved, but she couldn’t be certain.

He skidded to a halt in front of Maggie instead, breaking into a goofy, gap-toothed smile. Oh. This was Richie. Well, there went Arlene’s impression of him.

“Well, if it ain’t my ol’ lady, loight o’ moi loife,” he trilled, putting on a voice that sounded vaguely offensive as he bounced on his heels. “How was it? How many grey hairs for moi ol’ ma?”

Maggie chuckled and ruffled his hair roughly, leaving it standing up on end. “Oh, at least three.”

“Only three?”

“I know. Better try harder if you want me silver by forty.” She patted him on the head like she would a dog and beamed at him. “Nice try with the voice, but no dice.”

Richie pouted. “Not even a morsel of praise, Mommy-O? Encouragement helps aid child development dontcha know.”

“Yes, which is why I am trying not to encourage you ever. Stop reading my parenting books.”

Richie’s pout increased. “You are a cruel and damn-ned mother. This model comes without a manual!”

“Don’t I know it. What have you been up to?”

“Uh…” Richie spun around and pointed sheepishly at a slowly emerging Ben and-

Arlene clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh my gosh! What happened?”

“IT WASN’T MY FAULT,” Richie shouted immediately.

The smaller form of Eddie had his arm slung over Ben’s broad shoulder and was hopping along on one leg. Dirt coated his face, and he was very clearly trying not to cry.

“Th-this is what I was truh-trying to tell you!” Bill complained as Ben, her wonderful Ben, carefully removed the other boy’s arm from his shoulder and stuck it on the one nearest him.

“It’s fine, really, it’s not broken or even really badly sprained,” Eddie gabbled, and Arlene was struck by just how fast he was talking. With his mother he’d been quite quiet and subdued – but not here. Here he really was talking at a hundred miles a minute. “I checked for swelling around the ankle bone and it’s not doing that, and I just fell funny because _someone_ pushed me,” at this he glanced at Richie but dropped his gaze a beat later like he wasn’t aware he was doing it, “and it’s just a little stiff and sore but I can walk on it I swear I just need to sleep it off and rest it I don’t need to go to the hospital I really don’t please don’t tell my mom or she’ll freak…”

“Woah, woah, woah, slow down.” Zack crouched down in front of him and reached a hand out. “Can I take a look?”

Eddie paled at the very suggestion, but since a grown up had asked he seemed compelled to obey. Stretching out his leg he bit his lip and buried his head in Ben’s shoulder as Bill’s father gently probed the swollen flesh around the ankle.

“Aw Eds, you’re bein’ real brave,” Richie said helpfully.

“Shut up, just… shut up.”

Richie turned to Maggie. “You gonna let him talk to me like that?”

“Of course I am,” Maggie replied, straight-faced, “he’s right.”

“Betrayed by my own mother,” Richie sighed.

Ben was focused on Eddie, brows drawn together in gentle concern. He even patted the other boy’s back in an attempt to soothe him – which apparently worked, since the shudders in Eddie’s slight frame began to subside. When Ben looked Arlene’s way though, he seemed as confused as she was that he’d gotten pulled into it. They sure were gonna have a lot to talk about over the pizza she promised they’d share back home.

“So you’re Ben?” Maggie asked him, and as one both Arlene and Ben whipped around to look at her. She was smiling, though. Phew, okay. Smiling was good. “How are you finding Derry?”

Ben resembled a rabbit that had stepped in the path of a fox. He looked to his mother for help, but Arlene didn’t say anything. Ben wasn’t used to being spoken to so directly by grown-ups; it was done indirectly, most of the time by nosey old ladies who had something to say about his eating habits. His mouth moved a few times uncertainly before any sound came out. “I… yeah, I’m Ben. Derry’s okay. I like the library.”

Maggie’s smile widened. “You like reading, huh?”

Ben nodded, warming a little under her encouragement. “I love reading.”

“Benny boy is a hero!” Richie crowed, making Ben blush with the strength of his words. “He helped us out when Eddie went and broke his leg-”

“It’s not broken!” Eddie wailed, staring frantically at Zack. “It’s not, right?!”

“It’s not broken,” Zack confirmed, casting a small glower Richie’s way.

“Anywho,” Richie continued, “We were all panicking because Eddie’s the one who knows everything and he was hyperventilating and couldn’t breathe ‘cus he dropped his inhaler and then Benny boy comes over like the caped crusader himself and got that plastic sucker right down Eddie’s gullet-”

“I didn’t do that,” Ben said, abashed. “But I did, uh, give it to him. He looked pretty scared.”

“He was gonna die,” Richie confirmed.

“Shut up, no I wasn’t.”

“You were. Your life flashed before those big ol’ browns of yours.”

“I knew I forgot to install your off switch, kiddo,” Maggie sighed. She thrust a hand towards Ben, who eyed it nervously. “Well, thanks a lot, Ben. We all owe you one. Especially Eddie, but also my idiot son who would have probably been murdered by Sonia Kaspbrak.”

“Oh.” Ben’s eyes darted to his mother again, just to make sure, and Arlene nodded. He took Maggie’s hand and shook it a couple of times. “Uh… thanks, Mrs Tozier.”

She tipped him a wink and then turned to Zack. “What’s the verdict, coach?”

“Not broken,” he said, straightening up. “Just a bad twist. Some rest and a cold compress should do it.”

Eddie seemed dismayed at this news, especially when they all heard a screech of “EDDIEEEEEE” across the playground. All of them, even Maggie, cringed. “I better go,” Eddie said, though by the look on his face he wanted the exact opposite.

“Safe trails Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie said, giggling when Eddie smacked him around the head. By the lack of reaction from everyone, Arlene assumed this was absolutely normal behaviour. Eddie scowled at him and shuffled off, only slightly limping, back towards his waiting mother. Zack and Bill decided to head that way too, to explain the situation in case Sonia asked, but Arlene saw how Eddie carried himself differently as he got nearer, the limp evening out into a normal walk. It must have been agony, to walk like that. But there he was, showing no pain. No weakness. She frowned after their retreating backs, but then Ben asked her something.

“Hm, what?” she turned back. “What is it, honey?”

“I said I’m hungry. Can we go get pizza now?”

She smiled, dropping an arm onto his shoulder and patting him. “Sure we can.”

“Stanley, come along,” Donald barked, and the boy fell into line behind his dad. “Seeya Rich,” he muttered as he headed off to the waiting car.

And then it was just the four of them. Arlene and Ben. Maggie and Richie.

They set off across the playground towards the parking lot, Richie continuing to ask his mom about what his teachers said and Maggie denying him every step of the way. The more time she spent with them, the more Arlene could see the resemblance; Richie had a gawkiness about him that she was sure would only get worse as he hit puberty, but for now he was bouncing around like a rubber ball, the same energy that was controlled in his mother exploding out of him like it couldn’t get out fast enough.

“Where’s Dad?” he asked after another unsuccessful attempt to get Maggie talking.

“He’s working late,” she answered. “He’s got paperwork to file, remember?”

“Aw yeah,” Richie said. “I forgot.”

“It’s alright kiddo, he said he’d take you out for ice cream if your report was good.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“You’re eating mud.”

“Mud?! Aw man, aw gee, Magsie gets off a good one!”

Maggie rolled her eyes and grinned in Arlene’s direction, a ‘ _yep, this is my son’_ sort of grin, and Arlene just laughed herself. She hadn’t met a boy like Richie. She hadn’t met a woman like Maggie, either. She wanted to ask about her husband, since for a little while she thought she was – well, like her – but she chickened out.

They split off in the parking lot, but not before Maggie called out that Ben was welcome over the house any time. “And so are you,” she added, clapping a hand around her mouth to shout it through the space between them. “If you want the company!”

Arlene just gave a short nod and a nervous smile and unlocked her car, sliding into it as quickly as she was able. She had her seatbelt fastened and was warming the car up by the time Ben slid into the passenger seat. “I like Mrs Tozier,” he said as she started the engine for real. “You should be friends with her.”

“Oh should I?” Arlene smiled. “Decided that for me, have you?”

“Uh huh.” Ben nodded. “She’s funny and she’s like, young. She’s not like the others.”

“No,” Arlene agreed, pulling out of the parking lot with an oddly light feeling in her chest. “She sure isn’t.”


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the local store turns out more eventful than Arlene planned...  
> This has a split narrative, so you get a bit o' Maggie at the end! No cws for this chapter, but if anyone wants anything flagged please let me know~
> 
> Genuinely don't know where this is going so I should probably plot it or something idk it's just fun to write about Maggie Tozier being wonderful if I'm honest, please leave a comment if you're enjoying as this literally fuels the fire to write :)

The next time Arlene saw Maggie Tozier, she was struggling to breathe outside a convenience store.

Well, to be exact, it was _the_ convenience store; the only one in the town, the BuyN’Save looked like it sprung up from the ground fully formed in the 1940s and never thought to change a thing about itself. It was a typical small-town store, selling everything the normal housewife or bachelor would need for their daily lives. If you wanted more, you went to Bangor. It was just a store, just a stupid store, but Arlene was just stupid enough to lose track of what she was buying.

And she started off so well, too. There was a knack to her store visits, and Arlene Hanscom prided herself on speed. She had been quick to figure out the layout of local stores, where every necessity was shelved and stacked, so she could write a list around it. That way she could get in, get what she needed, get out. The least amount of time in there the better.

She always left Ben in the house – he had a key and knew only to open the door if it was absolutely needed – and conducted her whirlwind trip alone. She would have a list. She would know what meals to plan for. She knew what treats Ben liked.

But on the shopping trip that involved Maggie Tozier, she got distracted by the cereal aisle. There were a couple of bright, technicolour boxes with a cartoon vampire on the front that she recognised from a commercial Ben had watched a few days ago. He’d rolled onto his stomach like a cat by a fireplace and said, “They look great, mom. Don’t they look great?”

He’d not mentioned them since, but wouldn’t it be a nice surprise for him if she happened to bring some home for him to try? She knew she had an extra couple dollars in her purse from cutting her bus fare and walking to her office a couple of times that week, and Ben had been so good lately. Biting her lip around a smile, she put a box in her cart – and that was the problem. When she reached the checkout, it turned out that those couple of dollars weren’t in her purse.

As she rummaged through, starting to sweat a little under the gaze of the unimpressed cashier and the people behind her, the memory crept up on her of the moment she gave those dollars to Ben to go get an ice cream. It was a hot day, the other kids on the street were getting some, and she didn’t want her boy missing out. But. No dollars. Crud.

“If you don’t have the money, ma’am, you’re gonna have to put somethin’ back,” the cashier said in a dull monotone.

The panic made way for despair. Arlene had the childish urge to cry, right there in the store. It welled up in her slow, like a river slowly breaching its banks in the winter. It was simple, really: she would put the box back. That was a treat anyway, an unnecessary expense in the first place – but it wasn’t _fair_. She could see the other women’s carts, and how they were laden with sweets and cereals and chocolate for their children. Why wasn’t she allowed to give her son what _he_ wanted, too?

And now people were looking at her, wondering who this woman in her secondhand skirt thought she was, trying to provide for her family without a man about the house?

 _They don’t know that,_ she told herself as she shakily reached for the cereal. _They don’t know you’re on your own, why would they know, pull yourself together._ The offending vampire, the reason for her misery, leered cheerfully at her from his place on the box, like he was mocking her too.

Then: “I’ll pay for it.”

Arlene’s head jerked up to see the older woman behind her in the line reach for the box too. She had kind eyes and a generous smile, bright against the dark of her skin and the lemon yellow of her dress. She wasn’t tutting and rolling her eyes at Arlene like the other women were. Those women were – well, they weren’t giving her a _wide_ _berth_ , necessarily. They just seemed unimpressed – or maybe embarrassed – at the fact someone else was getting involved in the first place.

Arlene’s cheeks burned with shame. “N-no, I couldn’t let you-”

“I insist, darlin’.” The woman took the cereal box and put it amongst her scant assortment of groceries and smiled again. “Don’t you worry about it. I like to help my neighbours.”

Arlene hoped she didn’t mean that literally, as she was sure she’d never seen this woman before in her life, and that would be cause for some very awkward conversation. Besides, she _did_ worry about it. She fretted over it, turned it over in her mind like it was on a spin cycle as the cashier rung up her new total with a sigh. She dwelled on it as she handed over her money, and nearly spilled the coins, as well as her apology, out over the counter. God, she was no longer just poor to these people – she was a _charity case_. She was a no-good beggar who needed someone else’s help because Lord knows she couldn’t look after herself or her son…

So that was why, once she got her groceries together, she practically ran out of the store without a backward glance, her Good Samaritan shouting after her, “Miss, wait up! You forgot your cereal! Miss!”

So, here she was. Leant against the wall of the BuyNSave. Trying to remember what breathing felt like. It was proving difficult.

She told herself she wouldn’t linger, wouldn’t let herself stay long enough for the lady to catch up with her; but the fatigue of the night’s work before and the early morning start was beginning to take its toll on her, and so she stayed where she was. That was, until someone cleared their throat beside her.

“So. Didja get kicked out for something too?”

Arlene stiffened. Shoot, how hadn’t she noticed there was someone else there? She glanced to her right – and promptly looked down. She recognised the Buddy Holly glasses and the Bugs Bunny smile. Richie Tozier had his arms folded, brow arching up and disappearing into his unruly hair. He was wearing a vibrantly bright turquoise shirt today, with lots of wacky patterns screaming across it. Arlene blinked. She didn’t even know such material existed.

“Um. No, not really.” She paused. “Well, maybe.”

Richie shrugged. “Well, welcome to the wall, lady. Plenty of room.” He brought a hand out of his pocket and offered her something in a shiny wrapper. “Want some gum?”

Arlene blinked. “Oh, no thanks.”

“Suit yourself. It’s strawberry.” He popped a stick of it into his mouth and began to chew. “Shouldn’t have this really. Dad’ll flip. But I walk on de wild side, dontcha know?”

“Was that…” She frowned. “Was that Irish?”

Richie eyed her cautiously. “Did it… sound Irish?”

“Sort of.”

“Then yeah! I nailed it.” He beamed up at her, and Arlene cracked a smile too. “You’re the new kid’s mom right?”

“Sure am. And you’re Richie, right?”

“The one and only,” he replied smoothly, though she could tell he was pleased she remembered. “I cannot be duplicated, replicated or imitated.”

“You’re very good at talking to grown-ups, you know,” she commented.

“Mom says it’s a gift, but I think she’s being sarcastic.” Richie shrugged a shoulder, as if to say, ‘no big deal’.

Arlene chuckled – just a little bit. “What are _you_ doing out here, anyway?”

Richie shuffled his feet, blowing a bubble with the gum absentmindedly. Parking lot dust rose up from his sneakers – apparently even a New England town like Derry got dust. “Mom thinks if she leaves me out here long enough someone’ll pick me up like a free paper.”

“Richard Wentworth Tozier,” came a low, familiar purr by the door, “You better not be telling that child trafficking story again.” It was stern, the voice, but also maybe a little… amused?

Arlene turned and spotted Maggie Tozier heading out of the BuyN’Save. She was wearing the same bomber jacket from before, but the top underneath was royal green. A myriad of necklaces hung around her neck, none of them in matching metal; gold, silver, they all jingled merrily together as she moved.

Arlene brushed invisible dust off her mustard pleated skirt rather consciously.

Maggie peered at them both curiously, folding her arms despite the shopping in her hands. “Richie. What have we said about bothering people?”

“Not everyone wants to be friends with a preteen,” Richie recited, rolling his eyes and popping gum for good measure.

“Exactly.” Maggie glanced to Arlene next. “Heya Mrs Hanscom. Fancy seeing you at this fine establishment.” And there was the smile from the parent-teacher conference. Part of it triggered a fight or flight response in Arlene – namely the urge to leave before she got swallowed up by those teeth.

Still, she smiled politely back. “Hello. And I don’t mind, not at all. We were just talking.”

Maggie’s gaze shifted to her son like it was magnetised. As if waiting for it, Richie piped up, “Uh huh, Mrs Hanscom was makin’ sure I wasn’t taken by any ruffians.”

“I wish any ruffians brave enough to take you good luck and my best wishes,” Maggie replied kindly. “They’d be paying _me_ to have you back. Speaking of, keep the change.” She flicked a silver coin his way. As Richie fumbled for it, she offered Arlene another smile. “Honestly though, hope he didn’t talk your ear off.”

“Oh, no! No, no, really, it’s quite alright!” Arlene said, flushing a little. “I sort of… uh…”

“She ran out the store,” Richie supplied helpfully.

Before Arlene could explain why exactly she ran anywhere, the woman from the checkout appeared behind Maggie, brow furrowed. “Mags, you ain’t seen a – you!”

Arlene wasn’t the praying type, but at that moment she wished she was. Maybe that way she could actually turn to parking lot dust, blow under the garbage cans and be free of this awful situation. Instead she froze, some downtrodden instinct telling her she might become invisible if she didn’t move. Obviously, that wasn’t going to work. No, the woman was reaching into her own, no doubt well-packed bags for the offending cereal box. Oh, Lord, she was never going to be able to live this down. That’s what she got for trying to do a little extra, a little more than she was owed by her salary.

“Why’d you go running out there like you got the devil on your tail, Miss?” she asked. There was a slight edge of accusation to the question. Oh god, did the woman think Arlene was a shoplifter? She didn’t want to deal with this, not in front of Maggie.

But oh no, it got worse. “I do hope,” and now the voice took on a more clipped, professional edge, “that it ain’t cus you don’t wanna accept help from the likes of me?”

It took Arlene a beat too long to understand what she was saying. As the woman dropped the box back into her bag with a blunt, “wow,” and made to turn around, Arlene found enough of her voice to splutter, “No! Gosh, no, I’d never dream of… uh, that is to say I’m…”

“I think she’s trying to say it ain’t the colour of your skin she’s got a problem with, Jess,” Maggie intervened, taking the lady by the arm and steering her gently back. “We’re none of us very good at explaining that.”

The woman’s gaze remained a little wary, but Arlene was relieved to see the tight line of her shoulders evened out. “Well, I’m sorry if that ain’t the case,” she muttered, “But this is a small town, and the folk are set in their ways. But then, my family been here as long as everybody else and you don’t see us hating on nobody…”

“Meet the one and only Jessica Hanlon, Hanscom,” Maggie introduced, darting a hand back and forth between them. “Jessica’s husband owns the farm just outside of town. She helps out at the-”

“-church,” Jessica finished for her, warming a little at the mention. “I lead the choir.”

“She is the smartest woman I know,” Maggie hissed behind her hand, like it was a secret she was letting Arlene in on. “And her voice…” She chef-kissed the air with a wink. “Could almost get me going to church with her set o’ pipes.”

“Aw, Mags, quit it,” Jessica huffed, but she smiled brightly at the praise. It was enough to get her handing over the cereal, which Arlene reluctantly took. “Here you are, darlin’. Don’t go running off next time.”

Arlene stuffed it in her bag, squirming under Maggie’s curious gaze. “I’ll pay you back,” she promised, cheeks burning.

“Naw, don’t you worry about that. It’s on me.”

“No, I mean it, I like to… to pay my way, you know?”

Jessica shifted her gaze to Maggie, unsure, but Maggie didn’t look her way. No, she was still looking at Arlene like she was a particularly interesting insect. Arlene didn’t like the prickle of consciousness that passed through her, so she knew it was the time to make her excuses and go. “Well,” she began, “it was very nice to meet you, and thank you for the help, but I must be going.”

Jessica Hanlon gave a soft smile, one Arlene really didn’t deserve, and said, “No worries, Mrs Hanscom. I’ll see you around.”

“I’ll bring you the money,” Arlene said again, shifting her bags ready to go, “at the farm. When I… when I next get my paycheck. I’ll look you up.”

“I told you,” Jessica said, too kindly, “you don’t have t-”

“But I want to.” Arlene knew it was rude to talk over someone, but this was important. She had to know. “I… I want to, so. Um.” She looked over the collection of confused faces – Jessica, Maggie and Richie – and beat a hasty retreat out of the parking lot and down the street before she had chance to say anything else.

God, she was so stupid. How come she couldn’t just _talk_ to people like a… like a _normal human being_ and not some sort of alien who crash landed on the planet that morning? She had friends from college, for god’s sake, good ones! She used to know how to do this, she thought as she crossed at the lights and took a right, and since when was it so har-

“Hey, Mrs Hanscom!”

She stopped. Was that…?

“Wait up!”

Against her better judgement, Arlene started walking faster.

“Hey hey hey!”

Arlene practically power-walked down the road. She looked over her shoulder and saw that Maggie was actually jogging to catch up. With a sigh, she gave up and slowed. “What is it?” she asked, once the other woman reached her.

Maggie clutched her side with a wince and, fighting to get her breath back, she answered, “Is it… a crime… to wanna… walk with you… Mrs Hanscom?” She blew out a particularly loud puff of air and straightened up. “Jeez, did you run track in school? You sure can scoot.”

“I can’t see why you’d want to,” Arlene muttered, clutching her small brown bags tightly to her chest.

“Since when do I have to have a reason?” Maggie shot back.

Arlene frowned. Hm. Maybe she didn’t. With a shrug, she gave it up as a failure of an argument and began to walk again, but slower so her new companion could get her breath back. She looked for Richie, but Maggie said, “Don’t worry about the kid, he’s got enough pocket money to stop by the comic book store and get the new _Spiderman._ Kid’s obsessed, he actually went around picking up spiders and making them bite him when he was eight. Only stopped when he got hold of a yellow garden sucker and got a trip to the doc’s.” She laughed. Arlene didn’t find it particularly funny. Spider bites could be very serious.

“You know, you’re pretty quiet,” Maggie added, after they spent a minute or two just walking in silence.

Arlene bit her lip. “Am I?” She hadn’t always been quiet, or careful about what she said or did. She _wasn’t_ quiet, not if she got to know people. She certainly wasn’t quiet around Ben. She needed to work on that; what she really needed to do, though, was find out what it was about the woman next to her that made words fall right out her brain. She tucked her head against her chest as they walked and mumbled, “It’s just been quite a morning.”

“I’ll say.” Maggie paused. “Do… you wanna talk about it?”

Arlene shrugged again. There was an answer, obviously. Of course she didn’t want to talk about it. What she wanted was to get home, give Ben that wretched cereal and hope he didn’t like it so she never had to buy it again. She didn’t want to talk to someone who was nice to her about it. She didn’t deserve that, because it was _her fault_ and someone had to come save her the way someone always did. Those frustrated tears, tucked away from back in the store, decided to make another appearance. She swiped a few loose as quick as she could.

Maggie definitely spotted it.

“I’m a good listener,” she prompted gently. “And you can tell me to go to hell, honest, but I’m a firm believer in a problem shared being a problem halved.”

“I c-couldn’t…” _Oh, God. Talk without blubbering, Arlene, you can do it._ She bit her lip, hard. “I couldn’t tell you that, no one needs to go to h-hell…”

“Oh, well that’s a relief, Hell doesn’t exist anyway. Jewish privilege, has its benefits.” Maggie stuck her hands in her jacket pockets and gave her a sideways glance. Her bags smacked against her leg as she moved. “C’mon, Hanscom. What have you got to lose?”

Arlene sniffled into her shopping and hoped she didn’t get it all sodden. “I was short, alright?” she said, pulling her head away from her bags so she could be heard. She’d hoped it would come out strong, defiant – but instead it was more of a whimper.

Maggie didn’t answer straight away. But then she said, “Oh." And then: "I wouldn’t worry. Everyone’s short to me.”

It was a dumb joke. A really dumb joke. But Arlene laughed anyway, ugly and snorting. She snapped her mouth shut the moment she got it under control, mortified that the whole neighbourhood had just seen her laugh through tears and snot and goodness knows what else, but Maggie’s pleased grin made her feel a little less conscious. “Th-that wasn’t funny,” she spluttered.

“Okay. Noted.” Maggie quirked an eyebrow. “So, what, you didn’t have enough mone-?”

“I’m not poor!” Arlene answered immediately, tightening her grip on the bags. “I’m not. I just… need to budget a little better. We do alright, Ben and I, but we just have to be careful with what we spend our money on, and I… I wasn’t being careful.” She clenched her jaw tight as she stared at the ground, adding, “I just wanted to be able to get something nice for him. That’s all.”

“Hey, no judgement here!” Maggie brought her shoulders up, her pocketed hands going with her. “I never said you were poor. And even if you were, no one cares around here. Anyone who does ain’t worth dealing with.” Arlene’s sceptical squint made Maggie’s brows draw tighter together, as if in solidarity. “Hey. It’s true. Most of us are out here living paycheck to paycheck, it’s what happens in a small town like this. There’s nothing bad in that, s’just a fact of life. Besides, I got it on good authority that most folk round here got loans they ain’t paying off, and none of that is to do with making their kids happy.” Arlene watched her curiously as she continued, “Hell, I get it. I’d do anything for Richie. If he needed something, and _really_ needed it, I’d do whatever.” She paused. “Well, not _whatever_. I’d commit tax fraud. Maybe rob a bank.”

Arlene gave a snort-laugh-cough, another ungainly sound that never dared come out her mouth usually. But this was shaping up to be a rather unusual day. “ _Maybe_ rob a bank?” she echoed, but it held a smile with it this time.

“Yeah. I reckon Richie is rob-a-bank worthy. I draw the line at murder though,” Maggie mused. “Not good with blood, so I guess my little evil genius would be getting a one way trip to the big-”

“You talk a lot,” observed Arlene.

To her surprise, Maggie threw back her head and let out a loud, barking laugh that frightened a few birds out of the trees bordering the street. “Can’t help it, Arlie-baby. S’how I was raised. If you didn’t speak, no one listened.” She took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of her pocket and lit up with the cigarette bobbing between her lips. She offered Arlene the pack, but she declined. “So, I talk a lot.” She shrugged. “And you don’t talk at all.” She gestured to her with her elbow. “Guess you’d call it a match made in heaven.”

Arlene smiled and nodded. “I suppose so.”

It was nice to walk with Maggie. It hadn’t taken long for Arlene to figure out all the routes from her house to the right stores, to work, to whatever, but Maggie had a vast knowledge of shortcuts Arlene hadn’t counted on. She would veer off to the left or right, dragging on her cigarette as she went, and Arlene trotted beside her as best she could. One of Maggie’s strides were easily two of hers, but she kept up. She found herself _wanting_ to keep up.

One thing she noticed, though, was how Maggie drew her shoulders up. She tried to box herself into her own space, it seemed, because she was so aware of how tall she was and how much space she took up. She somehow made herself small; Arlene was very much treading on her shadow, but it soon became easy to keep pace with her. Maggie slowed down for her, pulled herself into a tighter fit so that they matched. It was strange body language. Arlene hadn’t ever seen it before. It was sort of nice, but also a little bit sad.

They passed a few people on their way home, and they stared. Arlene just pressed her bags closer to her chest, well aware of how it felt to be looked at, but Maggie did the complete opposite. She met every single person’s gaze who dared look their way. Sometimes it was a silent thing, a sharp glance with the smoke floating up from her cigarette. Other times she did it with a wink, a smirk, or a muttered comment under her breath. Arlene never did catch what it was Maggie said, but she had an idea.

“Don’t worry about ‘em,” Maggie said a few minutes later, jarring Arlene out of her gentle reverie. “They’re always looking. Wishing they had a camera, it’d last a hell of a lot longer if they did.” She took the cigarette from her mouth and tapped its ash onto the sidewalk. “Hate to break it to you, but they don’t ever stop looking. Just gotta find ways to deal with it.”

“What do you mean?” Arlene frowned. “You’re not the fresh meat who just got in from another town.”

“Yes, but folk know me. And even if they don’t, they see me with a kid at the end of middle school and do the math.” Maggie shrugged. “You’re like a double threat. New and young.”

“That’s really great to hear, thank you.”

Maggie cast a shrewd glance her way. “Hey.” She met her gaze. “It’ll be alright, you know.”

“Will it?” Arlene sighed. It was always the same; every new town, every new face, it started to grate on a person after a while. Arlene liked to think she was the sort of person full of patience, but even she was beginning to fray at the edges. Being used to something didn’t mean she had to like it any better. She was a single mother with a full-time job and a son who was her whole world. That was just who she was. It was the mould she had to fit herself into; even though there was lots of wriggling and sucking in of her gut. “I guess it’s nice to know someone’s optimistic.”

They turned onto Arlene’s road. “Where’s your place then, Hanscom?” Maggie asked.

Her eyes sought it out, worried for a moment that it had vanished. “It’s just over the road there.” It was a modest little house, but it had a little white fence and a smart red door and it was easily one of the nicer houses she’d been able to get. Mom had given her a little extra, a bit of a monetary nudge since she wanted to set down roots in Derry, and she was… grateful. Yes, she was grateful. “Number 26.”

Maggie let out a laugh so suddenly it made Arlene jump. “Ha, no way! I’m at the end of the block. Street buddies.” The way she said it made it sound like the biggest privilege ever and not like something a schoolkid would say. She pointed a little farther down the road and said, “And that house right there, that’s the Denbroughs. Zack, Sharon, Billy Boy and Georgie.” She kept her eyes on that house, Arlene noted, as though she had more to say about the Denbroughs but knew better. “They’re good people,” she said instead, though her tone was preoccupied. Unconvinced, maybe.

Arlene remembered Zack’s smile and the gentle way he reassured that boy – Eddie – about his ankle. But she also remembered the comment he made to his son, and the tortured look on the boy’s face as he said it.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” she mumbled, heavy with thought as well as her bags.

“Mmm.” Maggie pursed her lips before popping them together and swaying lazily in place. _Clearly trying to decide if she needs to walk me to my door_ , Arlene mused, and then wondered _why._

“I, uh, don’t suppose you’d want to-?” She shrugged, the jacket making her shoulders huge and hulking. “Nah. Nope. Nevermind.”

Arlene frowned. “What?”

Maggie jerked a thumb in a direction that was distinctly _not_ heading to Arlene’s own house. “Coffee? Breakfast?”

Arlene blinked. “Oh.”

“It’s just…” Maggie smiled, a little nervously. “Some female company would be nice. It’s a bit of a sausagefest in my house.”

“Oh,” Arlene said again. She frowned. “Well, you should buy bacon instead.” Maggie choked back a laugh, and she realised she’d misunderstood. She felt the colour rise in her cheeks as she continued, “I, um, can’t. Ben’s waiting for me, and…”

“So he can come too. Richie could do with more socialisation.”

Wow, she was really trying to sell it. Despite herself, Arlene was wary. This woman had seen how she had to have cereal bought for her; that was usually enough, in her experience, to scare people off. Unless…

Arlene shook her head. No. She’d taken enough for the day. “Thank you, but we can manage.” She eyed the numerous bags she had with her. “I wouldn’t want to steal any of your hard-earned groceries from you.”

She’d wanted it to sound hard-nosed and snarky, but it came out plaintive and… okay, sort of pathetic. She tried.

For a second, Maggie looked blankly down at her – then an, “OH,” exploded from her mouth like a bomb. Arlene jumped. “This was all discounted. Not like I need to explain myself to you, Hanscom,” she answered playfully.

Arlene looked back at the bags, confused. “No they weren’t, I checked. There were barely any reduced-”

“Oh my god.” Maggie looked genuinely distressed. “Arlene – may I call you Arlene? – this is no shop discount.”

“You -you’ve already given me a nickname, I don’t mind if you-”

“Hold up.”

Arlene honestly expected her to say she had a job too, or her husband giving her an allowance. What she didn’t expect was Maggie rooting around in one of her bags and brandishing a bundle of perforated sheets in her face. “Coupons!” she declared brightly, scaring birds out of the nearby tree and beaming as Arlene tried to get her eyes to focus on something right in front of her nose.

“You…” Arlene blinked feverishly to try to look at them properly. “You can’t _possibly_ get that much-”

“I can and I do, babe. Always.” Maggie grinned and handed the sheet over. “Take ‘em, I got these twice over at home. We can go through ‘em sometime, show you the best discounts and where to find ‘em.”

Arlene stared down at the bright coloured papers, biting her lip. “Mrs Tozier?”

“Maggie.”

“Maggie.” She took a breath. “You really don’t have to do this.”

“Eh?”

“Be nice. To me.” Gosh, Ben would hate her if he could hear. But she wanted to give this intimidating, unerringly _cool_ person an out. Sure, they were closer in age than the other parents, but that didn’t mean anything. She wasn’t going to hang onto her sleeve for _that._ “I don’t know if you’re the… the Derry Welcome Committee or something, but I’ve raised Ben on my own and I’m used to it by now. It’s fine. You can leave me alone, if you want.”

To her surprise, Maggie was still smiling. “No,” she said simply.

Arlene raised both brows. “Pardon?”

Maggie’s smile widened. She shrugged helplessly. “No.”

Chewing the inside of her cheek, Arlene let a small smile of her own slip through. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Maggie raised an elegantly darkened brow. “Can’t convince you for breakfast and couponing right now?”

“Not now.”

“But another time?”

Arlene paused. She nodded. “Some other time,” she confirmed. And she actually meant it. It felt like a contract, forged in something stronger than a simple conversation on a sunny Saturday morning sidewalk. Arlene was surprised at how okay she was with that.

“See you around then, neighbour.” Maggie winked, and that seemed to seal the contract properly. Then she was gone, backing away down the path and then spinning around with a dancer’s elegance. She sauntered away under Arlene’s incredulous gaze. “What an odd woman,” she said aloud. It turned out it wouldn’t be the last time she’d have that particular thought cross her mind.

* * *

The Maggie Tozier in question actually happened to be thinking the same thing. Humming under her breath as she strode back to her house, she glanced over her shoulder to see the elusive Mrs Hanscom dart across the road like an antelope. She hadn’t really expected much from the new arrival to Derry – when the old folks moved out of number 26 and a For Sale sign got stuck up she didn’t give it much thought. It would be the same old story, some couple from the town or a family from Bangor if they were lucky. Not many people moved to Derry if they could help it, and even less stayed. But Mrs Hanscom moved to Derry, and Mrs Hanscom was going to stay. She was unapologetically _interesting,_ and Maggie liked interesting people.

Smiling to herself, she continued on her way down the street, her mind already in the kitchen and debating what part of breakfast she should start first until she saw a familiar figure stood on her lawn, gangly and unsure. Her smile faltered a little. Bill Denbrough, again? It was the third time that week.

Maggie knew Bill as one of Richie’s oldest friends, and the randomly appointed leader of their little friendship circle. Nobody told Maggie that, obviously, but it was clear to see the way the other boys looked to him for guidance, gravitated around him like they were just rogue planets around his blazing, brilliant sun. She didn’t see the big deal with him, if she was honest, but he was a sweet kid. Stuck in his own head. Fighting to get out of it most of the time, too.

It looked like he was trying to work up the courage to knock on the door, so she put him out of his misery by shouting, “Mister Bill Denbrough! Do my eyes deceive me?”

The poor kid spun around like a shot went off. These children. So twitchy. Yeesh. “Mrs Tuh-tuh-Tozier,” he said, his entire body froze up. “I was juh-juh-just-” She noticed the way he winced every time he had to start over, like it actually hurt, until eventually he just stopped trying.

When she was sure he wasn’t going to speak again, she said, “It’s always a delight to see you on my doorstep, Bill. What can I do you for?” Bill let his gaze fall to the ground, a muscle working in his jaw, and Maggie nodded. Hoo boy. “Say no more.”

Bill’s face scrunched, like it used to when he was younger. It started at his nose, always his nose, wrinkling up like he’d smelt something bad. And then the rest of him followed suit; his eyes, his cheeks, his shoulders, as though he wanted to crumple himself up into a paper ball, throw himself in the trash and start over. “I’m s-s-sorry,” he spat out. “I shouldn’t b-b-be here. I’ll go get something in the stuh-store, I c-c-can’t keep coming to you like I’m y-” He huffed, giving that particular consonant up for a bad idea immediately.

Maggie set her bags on the ground and crouched down. Bill was a tall twelve year old and probably hated it when adults knelt down to him like he was half his age – but Maggie had never seen a hint of annoyance or disgust when she did it. “Bill,” she began, gently. “How long have I known you?”

The question stumped him for a brief moment. But then, eyebrow raised, he tried to answer, “Since I was fuh-fuh-fuh-” He stopped. He growled under his breath.

Maggie smiled. “Since Kindergarten, right?”

Bill nodded solemnly. _A shame_ , Maggie caught herself thinking, _he always looks that way nowadays. It’s just part of him, I guess. Never used to be._

“Right.” Maggie agreed. “So when I say that you are practically my own son and you are welcome in this house whenever you like, I mean it. Okay?”

A flicker of a smile passed over Bill’s face – and then a shadow chased it away. “Okay…”

Maggie smiled too and straightened up, grabbing some of her bags in the process. “But hey, one rule: you have to be my bag boy. Grab the rest of the stuff for me, would ya?”

He didn’t hesitate to pick up the lighter bags she’d intentionally left on the ground and followed her to the door.

 _That would be Zack’s handiwork yet again_ , Maggie thought with a frown as she fumbled for her keys. He would insist on giving Bill grief about that stammer of his. He thought if he talked enough about it, it would miraculously stop. Maybe he thought that getting mad would frighten the stammer out of him. But, then again, if it wasn’t the stammer it would be something else. Poor kid never cut a break.

Zack wouldn’t hesitate to tell her all about the latest Thing Bill Did as they stood in the driveway; if he didn’t, she would get it secondhand from Bill a day later anyway. He was trying to toughen the kid up, he explained to her, get him ready for the real world that would eat him alive if he was such a thing as sensitive. Maggie wasn’t sure about all that; if the real world wanted to take a chunk out of her boy, she would take a chunk right back. But there were different ways to parent; if the mutters and stares meant anything, her way sure as hell wasn’t the right one. It didn’t stop her thinking that perhaps Zack’s wasn’t either.

She got her key in the lock and opened the door with the thoughts still bouncing around her head. Shaking herself, she shouldered her way into her house with a bellow of, “Hear ye, hear ye, the huntress has returned!”

As predicted, her husband’s voice shouted back, “Ah, she arrives! We shall munch on mammoth this fine morn!”

“ _God_ , you guys are gross,” came her son.

With a grin, Maggie made her way through the living room and into the kitchen-cum-dining room to find Richie, shoes still on, sat at one of the chairs flicking through the comic book he’d decided to get from the store. “You beat me home!” she observed, dancing past the squawking radio and around the table. “Are you supersonic?”

“Naw, you were just too busy talking to your new friend to notice me run past,” Richie commented without looking up from the garish pages.

“And you’re clearly too busy with Spiderman to see we got a guest, Richard.” Maggie gave his chair a kick as she passed, causing Richie to look up and beam at the sight of Bill.

“Big Bill!” he greeted brightly. “How’s it hangin’?”

Bill immediately cheered at the sight of Richie. Maggie felt a glow of pride rush through her as Bill put the bags down to give Richie a high-five – or equivalent, she wasn’t sure what the heck they were doing at that precise moment.

Richie made his friends happy. She knew that well enough. Even when they groaned at a dumb joke he made or pelted him with things if he said something…well, offensive probably, he wasn’t exactly a saint. It didn’t matter, however he managed to offend them; they always came back, and he always made a place a little less serious when he walked into it. He demanded attention, looked at situations and tried to make them funny, and his favourite people loved him for it. Maggie knew they did; she could see it in the way they messed up his hair and slung their arms around him. She didn’t ask for much from her son, but knowing that made her proud enough.

 _So, sure,_ she thought, _your son may build rockets or work as a heart surgeon, but mine? Mine is loud and annoying and his people love him so much it bursts out of ‘em. Beat that!_

With a sigh, she carried the groceries to the countertop where that husband of hers was stood brewing coffee. “And how was the supermarché, o wife?” he asked with a smile. Thinking of favourite people, Wentworth Tozier was hers. There was no doubt in her mind of that.

“Not much to report,” she replied, taking out the perishables and stacking them in the fridge. “Like the kid said, made a friend.”

“A friend?”

“Uh huh.”

“Is this an actual friend or a ‘time to offer a free dental check-up’ friend?” Wentworth threw another smile her way and held out her coffee, a single hand gripping the top of the mug like he had a death wish. But Maggie knew he didn’t feel the steam coiling around his fingers the way other people did, and knew he wouldn’t ever drop it. That came with twelve years of marriage – the belief in someone so strong that she would bet her life on Went not dropping that coffee cup. She took it from him – “the actual kinda friend, you ass” – and he leaned over to kiss her cheek – “gotcha, honey” – the way he always did. Maggie _glowed_.

Wentworth was the same height as her – a miracle, considering most were shorter – with eyes that crackled and sparked with mischief behind thick cola bottle glasses to match their son’s. Maggie always liked to say how much Wentworth looked like a young, hip professor to anyone who’d listen; he was, instead, the hippest dentist Derry had ever seen, but that never seemed quite so cool. Wentworth didn’t care, but he found it funny that she did. Even though he was a few years older, Wentworth still had the baby-eyed look those glasses helped magnify and dark tousled hair that Maggie couldn’t help but run her hands through whenever she got close. She found herself doing it then, one hand lost in his mass of cresting waves as the other clutched her mug.

The radio was turned up loud, and whilst Belinda Carlisle burst out across their kitchen like she was doing battle with the arching sunshine, Maggie was happy to just stand by her husband for a while, their sides squeezed together like the sandwiches she packed in Richie’s lunches. The Tozier kitchen was a simple one, but it was large enough to move around without bumping elbows and knees most of the time. That didn’t matter; she and Went still stuck close, the way they always did. The way she hoped they always would. A united front, them against the world. That was the Tozier way. That was _her_ way, at least.

She watched Richie and Bill pore over the same comic book with eyebrows raised (and scattered commentary from Richie), she listened to the radio, she felt Wentworth’s hand on her hip – and she was _happy._

“How was your morning?” she asked, leaning impossibly further into the line of Wentworth’s body.

He raised a heavy brow. “Well, when I woke up and saw you gone I thought, ‘Ah, the day has come. My wife has finally run off with the milkman.’”

“I left a note!”

“I didn’t have my glasses on, to me there was no note and I was both wifeless and breadless.”

“Oh har de har.” Maggie snorted and bumped him with her hip playfully. “The milkman is at least sixty. Don’t you think I could get someone a little younger than that falling in love with me?”

“My darling,” Wentworth purred, lacing an arm around her waist, “you make me fall in love every time I look at you.”

“Aww.” She leant in for a kiss, giggling slightly at how his moustache tickled her.

“Aw man, you see this, Big Bill? You see what I gotta put up with?” Maggie pulled away in time to see Richie gesturing wildly at them, eyes comically huge behind his glasses. “All over each other! All the time! Me, I never needed the birds and the bees talk. You get it all the time around here, I sw-”

“Richie,” Wentworth warned, though there was a smile to his words. “Bill doesn’t need to know everything about our lives.”

Richie shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe he’s into it.” The comic book was rolled up and hit around the back of his head in answer to that, knocking his glasses askew. “OW, BILL.”

“Beep buh-beep, asshole!” Bill retorted.

“Aw c’mon, they’re used to it.”

Wentworth glanced over at the table, to make sure Richie and Bill were too busy talking to notice, and slid his hands around her waist. “You missed a call,” he said, blowing the steam off her coffee as she raised it to her lips.

She blinked. “The Falcon want me to pick up another shift?” Setting her mug down, she grabbed for the bacon ready for the pan.

“No. Kaspbrak.” He mumbled the name into her shoulder so their son couldn’t hear, but Maggie was fine-tuned to that particular name.

She tensed up despite it all. With a huff, she threw the bacon into the pan with more force than was really needed. “Why.” It wasn’t even a question.

“Something about Richie climbing the tree in her backyard to give Eddie homework.” Wentworth sighed. “I know, who needs cable, right?”

Maggie sucked in a breath through her teeth. “So Richie climbs trees. He climbed that one on the green last summer.”

“I think you know why she doesn’t want him climbing that one.”

“No,” Maggie said, as evenly as she could, “She just doesn’t like it because he’s _my_ son.”

“Maggie.”

She shut her mouth. She glanced over at the boys; thankfully they were talking about some show they’d seen now and weren’t paying any attention whatsoever. Still, she felt bad talking about him when he was in the same room. She couldn’t help adding in a savage hiss, “If Frank was still alive he’d-”

“I know.” His hand tightened on her hip. “I know.”

Maggie took her sip of coffee like a shot of whiskey, ignoring the way it burned her tongue. Sometimes she needed to remember that when people died, it was like a knife wound – sometimes, it never healed, no matter how long ago it happened. She folded her hand over Went’s, and he answered by threading their fingers together without a word. Just like that, the fire in her belly calmed – just a little. Maggie sighed. God, she loved him. “So,” she whispered, “he climbed Frank’s tree.”

Wentworth nodded.

“I’m not going to tell him to stop, Went.”

“Me neither, but it’s still trespassing.” Wentworth leaned closer. “Apparently she shouted at him so loud he fell out the tree and broke off a branch.”

“Good. She can add that to the stick already stuck up her ass.”

Wentworth snorted out a laugh. Maggie smacked his arm when the two boys looked up; Richie suspiciously and Bill blankly. “ANYWAY, LIGHT OF MY LIFE,” she said loudly, “My new friend lives on our street too, what a coinkidink!”

“Her name’s Mrs Hanscom, Da, and she’s a wackadoodle,” Richie shouted from his place at the table.

“RICHARD.”

Wentworth sighed. “Now, Richie, you know what I’m going to say.”

“Yeah.” Richie sighed theatrically, casting his eyes to the ceiling. “ _I’m_ the wackadoodle.”

“Got it in one.”

“No one,” Maggie stepped in, “is a wackadoodle.”

Bill was quiet the whole time, his eyes flitting from one person to the next like he couldn’t understand what was going on. He was almost – alarmed, actually, as if he was waiting for someone to get up and start yelling. Maggie wondered how they looked to him, this mishmash of a family who wasn’t shaped right. They were nothing but well-dressed aliens to someone like Bill, who was used to the way normal families worked. He stepped through their door and there they all were, being loud and rowdy and petty. They were untidy, unrehearsed. No wonder he looked ready to duck and roll out the nearest window. But then Richie nudged him, a laugh bursting out of him too loud and too high-pitched, and it made Bill smile like he was in on the joke. 

“Your dad’s ruh-ruh-right, Rich,” Bill said wisely a beat later, smacking him on the shoulder. “You _are_ a wackad-d-doodle.”

“It should be on my passport,” Richie agreed.

“If we declared it, my boy, you wouldn’t ever cross the county line,” Wentworth replied seriously.

Amid the clamour of noise and the sizzling of bacon, the sound of the doorbell reached Maggie’s ears. Setting the spatula aside for the moment, she crossed the room with a gentle tap on her husband’s shoulder to signal he needed to stop riffing with Richie and take over.

Coffee cup still in one hand, she skipped past the boys and got to the door just in time to hear whoever it was knock. She pulled the door open ready to tell the mailman that she was there already, jeez, no need to get in a huff about it- but then promptly looked down. “Oh, hey there! Ben, right?”

It was Ben. She didn’t need to ask. She remembered him from the school, sure and steady as he’d helped Eddie back to them. He was a stout lump of a boy, stood there on her doorstep, and despite the building heat in the air he was sporting a very large, equally lumpy sweater. His hands had been nervously tugging at his sleeves until she opened the door, she could tell, but now they were frozen in place. She couldn’t see much of Arlene in him until she noticed that particular quirk.

“Hi,” said the kid, more a noise than a greeting, before he gulped and tried again. “G-Good morning Mrs Tozier.” He looked like he was about to get shot, but he did try out a little smile that, lord, was so charming Maggie almost melted.

She took a sip of her coffee and raised her brows at him. “Good morning. It’s Maggie, kid, Mrs Tozier is my mother.”

Ben seemed to struggle with that; he stumbled over ‘M’ a few times before giving up and saying, “I just came over to, um.” He squirmed uncomfortably under her gaze. “Well, we don’t have a phonebook.”

Maggie blinked at him. That…was not at all what she was expecting to come out his mouth. Sometimes the neighbourhood kids asked if they could get a drink of water when they were out playing all day, or that select group would call for Richie, but this?

“Do… you _want_ a phonebook?” she said slowly, inching her coffee cup up to her mouth again. “Have to say, it’s not the most interesting read in the world. You’re better off looking for the library.”

“Oh, n-no, I don’t want your phonebook, I just wondered if maybe we-” _we_ , Maggie thought, _as in Ben and his mom. We._ “- could, um…” Ben’s mouth twisted all up in a frown. “Could I have your telephone number?”

Now Maggie did lower her coffee cup. “I think I’m a little too old for you, sweetheart.”

Ben turned a delicate shade of pink which Maggie felt bad for finding adorable. “F-for my mom!” he sputtered out. “N-not me, for my… for my mom.”

Maggie’s brows went up. Well, well, well, this was interesting. “Your mom?” she repeated. When Ben nodded fervently, head nearly popping off with how violently he moved it, she said, “She can just come over, silly. She doesn’t need a phone to-”

“Oh, she doesn’t know I’m here,” Ben corrected. “She’s making breakfast. And she’d probably find it, uh, awkward or something.”

 _‘Or something’. God, this kid._ “So… what is this, exactly?”

She heard Richie shout her name from the kitchen, but she ignored it. Wentworth was there if he needed him.

Ben flushed a little. “It’s just… okay, this sounds silly…” He huffed. “Can you keep a secret, Mrs Tozier?”

“Go on,” Maggie urged.

“Well, it’s just.” Ben’s frown increased. “We promised each other we’d make friends here. Me and my mom. And I think my mom would like to be your friend a lot, but she just isn’t very good at showing it. She worries that people are just being friends with her because they feel sorry for her, and I don’t know why they would do that.” Maggie kept quiet as Ben continued, “My mom is really nice to be friends with though, Mrs Tozier, honest. She makes real good food, so she’d probably bake you a good cake – pie is her best recipe though, she got a prize for her pie once. And she’s clever too! Really clever. B-but not nerdy, like a cool kinda clever, and…”

So he continued, rattling off his mother’s best traits like she was applying for a job. Maggie listened as every ounce of love seemed to pour out of his oversized sweater’s chest, and wondered what had happened to make him so desperate for her to have someone who liked her. Maybe the family had been messed around in the past, she mused as Ben went onto the subject of Arlene working in an office downtown but having free time on weekends and in the evenings even if she didn’t have time to make home-cooked meals every day. They had very clearly been looked at and judged before anyone took the time to know them. And Ben, dear sweet kid that he was, just wanted his mom to have someone she didn’t need to pretend around. She tightened her grip on her coffee cup, and in the middle of Ben’s ramble she cut him off with a, “Your mom has a lot of reasons to be liked, I reckon.”

Ben just looked down at his shoes and shrugged. “I just love my mom. And she wants to keep her promise, I know she does, so I thought I’d… y’know. Help.” Another shrug. “She’s not good at arranging anything, she always makes an excuse, so I thought if she had your telephone number…”

“I see.” Maggie set her cup down on the side table and picked up the pad and pen she always kept there. “Tell you what, Ben,” she said, pulling the cap off with her teeth and scribbling down her phone number in neat, printed handwriting, “I got a secret of my own. Think you could keep it for me?”

Ben blinked. He clearly wasn’t used to being given such a responsibility – not from another grown up, at least. “Uh, sure.”

Maggie ripped out the page and leaned forward to hand it over. “I really, really like pie. Especially cherry.” She smiled. “Do you think your mom could make one special for when I come over next week?”

Ben took the paper from her with another of those shy smiles, and Maggie had the overwhelming urge to hug him. “Yeah. Yeah! I think she could do that.” And then he _beamed_.

Maggie waved him off as he trotted down her front garden and back out to the road, making sure to look both ways before he crossed, and thought she’d never seen a boy look so small out there on his own. She waited until he got back to his door, folding in on himself to get his breath back before sneaking back into the house, and then closed her own door, pursing her lips. “Sweet kid,” she said, to no one in particular.

Then she returned to the kitchen and, amid Richie’s squawking and complaining, held him so tight he said he needed Eddie Kaspbrak's inhaler to recover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me @monoclepony for the curious~

**Author's Note:**

> This was only meant to be 5k :))) whoops
> 
> If you like this and want more, let me know! Leave a comment or kudos or feel free to find me on Twitter at @monoclepony.


End file.
